


Hamilton one shots

by orphan_account



Category: Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Depression, Gay John Laurens, Hurt Alexander Hamilton, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Musicals, No Smut, One Shot, Oops, Self-Harm, Suicide, Thomas Jefferson Being an Asshole, john laurens being a mom, trigger warning, why can't alex be happy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-08-26 07:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16677628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: This is just a one shot thing that I decided to write at three AMUsually centered around Lams, my OTPNO SMUT GO READ THE BIBLE





	1. Just Tired

I'm tired of hiding.

I'm tired of John Laurens not knowing, but I don't want him to know.

Because every single time I've told someone about anything it seems to fall apart. Trust takes years to build up, and only a second to tear down. Maybe if I stay in silence, nothing will fall down. Push myself to the limits of pain, because every time I think I'll break, I tell myself to hold on just a bit longer and it passes.

So I keep going.

When I think I should tell someone, or if I should end myself, I shut up and tell myself to hold on. See how long I can go feeling the supernova of hurt and sadness in my chest. And, eventually, it goes away.

That's why I've gotten used to hiding, because I tell myself I have the mental capacity to do so.

Not only that, everyone's bombarding me with their problems, so along with me not feeling like my problems are big enough to complain about, all they want to do is talk about themselves.

I'm faking too many smiles, that I'm actually wondering which ones are real now. It comes naturally; I don't even have to think about it. If someone else is sad, I'm happy, telling them the good things in life, cracking a few jokes.

There goes Alexander Hamilton, so happy that there's no way that he's sad.

That's the image I have. I focus so much on easing other people's pain that I make them think I'm happy.

And boy, are they fooled.

John isn't here. He's at his class, ending in a few minutes. I have to hurry.

I open the Kinder Egg yellow toy container, unfold the instructions, and there sits a blade. It's the most foolproof hiding spot I've thought of, and it hasn't failed me yet. I shove the Kinder Egg under my pillow, hurry into the bathroom, lock the door, and roll up my right sleeve. I don't have time for both wrists, and I only need a bit of pain to keep me going through the rest of the day. I might go crazy if I don't.

Self-harm is like a drug for me. It keeps me from going insane, because this is what gives me control. I can control this. It's also a distraction, keeping me focused on the blood and not the panging of my heart, lying to me, telling me that I'm still alive when I'm really not.

It's like this. If you have a paper cut, and then you stub your toe, you're suddenly more focused on your toe than your paper cut. So every time I feel the pain in my chest, I just rub a cut. It makes the chest pain go away.

I quickly drag the razor blade across my bare wrist, leaving a trail of little dots of blood, seeping through the skin. I sigh in relief when the pain washes over me, and I can't help but to make another cut.

Shit.

Too deep.

The pain hits me like a wave, and I grit my teeth. This has only happened maybe four times, and I know I'll survive. Even if I don't want to.

I run my wrist under cold water, waiting until the stinging is numbed. I inspect both cuts, then satisfied that they're not fatal, I press a red washcloth to both until they stop bleeding.

John bursts in the main door. I double check the lock, just to make sure that he's not going to come in here.

"You in there?" John asks, knocking on the bathroom door.

"Yeah. One sec," I say, toning down the panic.

"Nah, it's fine. Just wanted to know where you were," he says, his footsteps walking away.

I nod, washing the blood off of the towel, and wringing it out over the sink. I take care in making sure everything looks normal; the sink clean, but not too clean, fingerprints all over the mirror, the floor clean of blood, the tissues that were used to clean the floor and sink pushed down to the bottom of the can, covered in a layer of other tissues. Everything looks good.

I flush the toilet and run the tap water, making it look like I actually used the washroom. I pocket the blade and open the door.

John's sitting at the desk, getting started on his homework. I fall back onto my bed, putting my arms under the pillow, grabbing onto the Kinder Egg. I blindly wrap the blade in the instructions, and shove it in the container.

"You're quiet," John says, after a while.

"Just tired," I say. "Lecture day."

"Ah," John says. "Fun."

I nod, then roll over on my stomach, hoping to doze off a bit before John asks what I want to eat.

To which I will say, "Whatever you want."

To which he will go ahead and order pizza.

And I will eat exactly two slices.

Because everything has to be the same or else people start to suspect.


	2. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex is from the warm land and he travels up to the cold land so I wanted to write his reaction. this is just something I had put aside. Also Happy Birthday Tyler Joseph, I don't care.

John Laurens' POV

"John."

I wake up in the middle of the night. On a school day.

"Hm," I mumble, rolling over.

"John," Alex says in a sharp whisper.

"What is it? It better be good," I say sharply, annoyed that I woke up.

"There's snow falling from the sky," Alex says in wonder.

"No, I thought it fell from a helicopter," I pull the blankets back around me. "Go to sleep."

"But it's snow!" he whisper yells, pulling the blankets off of me.

"I thought it was popcorn," I pull the blankets up to my chest. "Go to sleep."

"You're a real ass when you're tired," he leans against the windowsill, his face pressed up against the glass.

"No I thought I'd be a mother hen when somebody wakes me up too early," I mumble, rubbing my eyes to try to wake me up. "Go to sleep."

"But it's snow," he says, his breath fogging up the mirror. "Look! Snow!

"I thought it was popcorn falling from the helicopter. Thanks for clarifying."

"I hate you," Alex says, without any bite.

"I know," I nod.

"I don't actually hate you," he says, maybe a bit worried I took him too seriously.

"I know."

"But wake up! There's snow!" he tries to pull me out of bed but he lets go and falls backwards. "You're so heavy," he complains.

"I'm stronger than you," is my reply.

He gets up and tries rolling me out of bed. I fall on the floor, tangled in sheets.

"Now it's my turn to hate you," I groan and prop myself up on my elbows.

"Are you mad at me?" he sits cross legged beside me, patting my hair. It's usually a mess this early in the morning, so it probably has a lot of pat-inducing volume.

"I could never be mad at you," I laugh, putting my head down and shaking it. He smiles and I suddenly am not that tired anymore.

"Good. Because there's snow," he leans against me like I'm a cushion and looks out the window. He has to crane his neck so he can see from this low of a height. "It's beautiful." 

Now that I think of it, everything's calm. There's the snow, falling lightly out of the window, and the lights from the campus illuminating everything just enough for us to see each other. It's peaceful, here on the floor, swarmed in blankets with the love of my life beside me.

I could never tell him that though, he'll laugh at me for being so cheesy.

"It's not going to be beautiful when you have to walk across campus to your class," I cross my arms in front of me and use them as a pillow. 

"It's going to be beautiful, just not enjoyable. Besides, I'll never get tired of the snow," he turns his head, looking down at me and smiling.

"What?" I smile, looking up at him. 

"What what?" he grins back. 

I love the way that when he barely smiles, or when he's trying not to smile, his lips crack open just barely, showing the slightest bit of teeth, and Jesus Christ, he's adorable and he's mine. He's smiling like that now, trying to hide the fact that he's so happy with me right now.

"You're staring at me," he snaps me out of my thoughts. He sounds playfully accusing.

I take my eyes away from his smiling lips, and bring them up to his eyes. "So what if I am?" I raise an eyebrow, joking.

"You're being difficult. Just kiss me," he says, leaning down. I roll over on my back, and hold onto his sides, bringing him closer to me. Our lips connect, and honestly, it's the most magical thing ever. It's almost like the first time we kissed, a couple months prior, when the fireworks exploded in my mind, when the buzzing in my head reached a peak, when I felt my heart burst with happiness. I never want to stop.

Alex pulls back, then lies down beside me. "I love you," he smiles, his eyes all soft. I'm sure I look the same.

"I love you too," I reach over him and put my hand on his head, pulling him into my chest for a hug.

We lie there for a while. I absentmindedly play with his hair, listening to our breathing, and watching the snow fall out of the corner of my eye.

"John?" Alex asks, looking up at me.

"Hm?"

"How about we go outside and-"

"Go the fuck asleep."


	3. Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of abuse  
> Slight mentions of sex oops  
> Alex is in a foster home, high school AU

I wake up fine and dandy but then by the time I find it handy  
To rip my heart apart and start  
Planning my crash landing  
I go up, up, up, up, up to the ceiling  
Then I feel my soul start leaving  
Like an old man's hair receding 

John and I are just lying on my bed, listening to my playlist. We're supposed to be studying, it's June, but honestly, we've already been studying for like two years so we're "relaxing" now.

"You like this song?" he asks.

"What's not to like?" I answer. "It's about the night and how terrifying it is."

"You relate to this?"

"Unfortunately."

Why am I not scared in the morning?  
I don't hear those voices calling  
I must have kicked them out  
I must have kicked them out  
I swear I heard demons yelling  
Those crazy words they were spelling  
They told me I was gone  
They told me I was gone 

"Wait I'm like super good at this part," I hold my hand up, telling him to not speak.

"Go for it."

"Shoosh ta bouche," I put my finger on my lips.

"On the eve of a day that's forgotten and fake  
As the trees, they await, and clouds anticipate  
The start of a day when we put on our face  
A mask that portrays that we don't need grace  
On the eve of a day that is bigger than us  
But we open our eyes, cause we're told that we must  
And the trees wave their arms and the clouds try to plead  
Desperately yelling, there's something we need  
I'm not free, I asked forgiveness three times  
Same amount that I denied, I three-time MVP'd this crime  
I'm afraid to tell you who I adore  
Won't tell you who I'm singing towards  
Metaphorically, I'm a whore, and that's denial number four!" I yell out, making weird arm movements to the beat

"You're so fast!" John says in wonder. "I can't rap."

"I'm fast in bed too," I wiggle my eyebrows.

"You're a bottom, Hamilton," he raises his eyebrow.

"Does it look like I care?" I laugh, leaning over him and pecking him on the lips. "You're fast in bed."

"Let's shut up now, because your parents are downstairs," he pushes me off of him, smiling. 

"Spoil-sport," I grumble jokingly, rolling back onto my side of the bed. "Love you."

"Love you too," he smiles.

I'm a match, she's kerosene  
You know she's gonna burn down everything  
She's an arsonist in her pass time  
And I've been burned for the last time

"Yo, this song slaps harder than my old parents!" I exclaim, reaching over for my phone.

"Don't joke about that," John says, a shadow crossing his face.

"About what?"

"People abusing you. You told me that your old parents hit you and stuff. Don't joke about that," he repeats. 

"Why does it hurt you?" I ask, rolling over on my side, away from him, annoyed. I was just having fun, like why???

"Because I don't like thinking about you getting hurt," he explains, but he senses that I'm running out of patience. "Alexander Hamilton, look at me."

I roll over, glaring at him.

"I care about you, and that's why it hurts me," he puts his hand on my shoulder. I shrug it off.

"The only way I can get over it is by making jokes, because I am a huge joke," I huff, rolling back over. "That's just how I deal with things, okay?"

"You shouldn't, though. I love you, and you shouldn't do this, because it hurts you," he puts his hand back on my shoulder.

Something inside me just wrenches, and I don't know why but I'm crying like there's no tomorrow, my shoulders shaking and my chest heaving with sobs.

"Alex?"

"I l-l-love you t-t-too," I stutter out.

"Come here."

I roll back over, into his arms, and he hugs me, and I'm breathing in his scent and I don't know why I was ever mad at him in the first place. He loves me, and I love him too, and there was no reason to get mad in the first place.

"You can let go now if you want," I say, once I've calmed down.

"Hmm. I don't want to," he replies, and his voice vibrates through his chest, and I'm so comfy and warm and loved.

"Good."

So that's how we stay until my foster parents call for dinner.


End file.
